The Lock
by ilaria-eugeal-tomasini
Summary: Marian talked against the sheriff and he punishes her by cutting her hair. Guy of Gisborne can't do anything to help her and he is forced to watch at the punishment.


Guy looked away, he had already seen enough.  
He could not openly oppose the sheriff, but he didn't want to continue to witness the humiliation of Marian. The girl had countered him in public and Vaisey had decided she had to be punished in front of the people of Nottingham, as an example for everyone else.  
Gisborne wanted to save her from that unpleasant experience, but he knew that if he protested, or if he tried to speak in defense of the girl, Vaisey not only wouldn't listen, but he could decide to toughen the punishment.  
Guy tried to think that Marian wouldn't feel any pain, that it was a much lighter punishment than those who were usually inflicted on the prisoners, but he failed to remove the unpleasant feeling that gripped his stomach.  
It seemed to him that even just watching that scene made him guilty like the sheriff, that Marian's suffering stained him more than all the crimes he had committed in the past.  
They took her in the castle courtyard, dressed in sackcloth as a penitent and they dragged her on the platform of the scaffold without telling her anything about what was going to happen.  
Guy had seen the fear in her eyes and he wanted to reassure her in some way, but he couldn't speak, and she was proud in her terror, holding her head high and not looking at any of them.  
She was so beautiful, Guy thought, even with that humble dress and her soft and long hair loose on her shoulders.  
Gisborne sighed to himself. He wished he had the right to touch those soft curls and he wanted nothing more than to be allowed to sink his fingers in it, to indulge the whim to play with each lock and breathe its scent. If he allowed his imagination to go beyond, Guy imagined the white body of Marian in his arms and the dark waves of her hair scattered on his pillow, disheveled after a night of love, or loose on the back and on the breast of the girl, to cover her purity as a mantle.  
Guy took his mind away from those thoughts when he saw the shears that cut the first lock, while the girl's eyes filled with tears.  
The soldier who was cutting her hair was using a pair of rough shears, like those that were used to shear sheep and Gisborne was forced to look away.  
He didn't want to see her cry, he didn't want to watch while the rough metal severed the silk of her hair.  
Vaisey wanted to humiliate her and Guy couldn't do anything to avoid it.  
He had to remain at the side of the sheriff and there was only one tiny rebellion he could afford: to refuse to look.  
He stared at a spot on the pavement, trying to ignore the biting remarks of the sheriff and he didn't move until it was all over.  
The sheriff went back to his business, satisfied, and Guy followed him as always, a dark shadow at the orders of Vaisey.  
Gisborne went back across the courtyard a few hours later, after leaving the sheriff to return to Locksley.  
How different was that place, now...  
It was just an empty courtyard, with only the overwhelming presence of the scaffold to remember the suffering of a few hours earlier.  
There was no crowd of onlookers who gathered to watch morbidly other's people pain, there was no gloating and boundless ego of sheriff, happy with the inflicted pain, there were no guards and no executioner and mercifully there was no Marian, who was now certainly back to the safety of Knighton Hall with her father.  
Guy went to the gallows, to the point where that morning Marian stood motionless, proud and brave as she was being treated so rudely.  
Something inside him tormented Guy, suggesting that Robin Hood wouldn't have been aloof, that, if he had been there, his rival would have done something to oppose that injustice.  
But Hood had not showed and Guy had not dared to rebel against the sheriff.  
On the ground, on the wooden planks of the platform of the scaffold, Marian's cut hair was still there to witness what had not been done, abandoned as if it was garbage, waiting for some servant to throw it away.  
Gisborne took off one of his black leather gloves and he bent down to pick a lock, a dark curl still soft and shiny, and he brought it to his face, trying to capture a trace of the scent of the girl.  
He had hoped to touch Marian's hair, but not like that, he thought sadly, brushing his lips on the stolen lock before hiding it under his jacket, near his heart.


End file.
